


Distant Closeness

by RussianWitch



Series: Kinktober2018 [22]
Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Come Marking, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 08:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16384901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Day 23 Scar kink





	Distant Closeness

**Author's Note:**

> not betaed

They fuck in the cave. 

Clark's hands twisting the railings and punching holes in cave walls as Bruce breaks him down and puts him back together again. 

Not Bruce, Clark reminds himself, the Bat is who fucks him.  

Sometimes, most of the time, with the cowl and gloves still on, only his dick and mouth bare. 

Clark could rip the suit apart, crack it like a shell to get at the vulnerable flesh underneath. 

When he sleeps, Clark dreams of putting his mouth on Bruce's scarred hide, tracing every scar with his tongue. 

He dreams of sucking on the gnarled tissue, scraping his teeth over the ridges and discovering the exact edge where the deadened nerves end and sensation begins. The slick texture of burns, the mounts of exit wounds, all the ridges and rough textures Clark's own body will never know. 

He doesn't get to touch, not the scars, not even the Bat's dick.  

What he gets—is fucked, used, he gets to submit to the Bat's will. 

Left lying like a broken doll on one of the lower landings, only the Bat's thick rubbery cape between him and the cold metal grate, Clark reaches between his legs, forces two fingers into his ass, pushing in and feeling around. 

When he pulls them out again, his fingers glisten with lube and the Bat's come. 

The one thing he is granted, his reward, the Bat's benediction when Clark kneels and spreads his legs. 

He wipes his fingers on his sweaty chest, rubs the lube and come into his skin and the already matted fur imagining himself marked visible for everyone to see. 

Clark imagines the Bat standing over him, bare hands on bare dick jerking off. Coming, Bruce would paint Clark's face with his come then ripping the cowl off; he would fall to his knees to lick the come off with broad strokes of his tongue. 

When Clark really feels like rewarding himself, he thinks of being allowed to strip the armor off, to touch—press himself against Bruce's body and be welcomed. He dreams about a bed, of lying on soft sheets and kissing for hours, of tangling their fingers together, enjoying the closeness. 

It's an absurd fantasy, an impossible wish; a delusion Clark saves for special occasions. 

If the Bat ever finds out about this little fantasy—Clark can't imagine what is going to happen. 

Possibly, the Bat would laugh, the best case scenario would be Batman never mentioning the discovery and going on as if nothing happened. 

Either way, Clark is sure, he'd lose the little of the man he now has. 

Footsteps echo above him, the Bat announcing his presence like he isn't surprised Clark is still there naked and filthy on his floor.


End file.
